Cigarettes and Xanax
by InaraG
Summary: Bella is finishing out her senior year of high school at Fork Prep, a school for the Elite. While trying to work through her own issues with her crazy, gold-digging mother and father who's never acknowledged her, she meets Edward. Will he love her too? AH
1. Chapter 1

I took a long drag from the cigarette and watched as the breathy smoke swirled and dissipated into the black. The girl beside me was smoking menthol's, inhaling shallowly and looking like she just wanted it to be over. She was not meant to be a smoker. Maybe she was trying to look cool? She looked like an idiot. I'm sure she also had some cherry cigars in her handbag. Pathetic. You shouldn't have to be anything but yourself- unfortunately that lesson seems to be lost on most teenagers. It seemed like every teenage girl I ran into these days was trying to be chic by smoking cigars. I'm sure that cigarette holders will be the next toxic trend.

Me, well, I hate the smell of the cigarettes to be honest, that's why I've never smoked in any of my dorm rooms, and why I try and quit every other week. But something always happens...

I stopped taking the Xanax so smoking is the only vice I have left.

What do the fucking doctor's know anyway? I've been diagnosed with every form of depression and anxiety from here to high hell. At one point I was on 6 different medications but I put a stop to that. I'm emancipated now so I finally have full say over what goes in my fucking body. I checked into a rehab to go off all the meds after I had a few hallucinations ... but that's not really the point of the rant.

The point is that the girl next to me out here is clearly not deriving anything positive from her menthol induced haze so I just don't get the fucking point. I hope not all the bitches at this school are as dumb as her. I haven't formally met anyone here yet so I don't really know what to expect. I know I should have socialized, but I got a private room for solitude, not so that I could throw parties like my neighbour seems to be inclined to do.

My private room has meant virtual isolation for the last three days. The closest to human interaction I've had besides smoking silently with menthol girl was pounding on the wall to tell my sex crazed neighbour to fuck her boyfriend a bit quieter.

Okay, I was a little jealous of that one. I've had sex with two people in my lifetime, and both times it was a disappointment. I've always wondered if it was the meds or just me. Maybe I'm broken there too?

My neighbour was clearly not disappointed.

I wanted to have sex, I did, but it was never good for me. Since I didn't feel compelled to hide that fact from the men, well boys, I had been with it had meant the end of my relationships with both of those idiots.

But this was a new school and a new day. It was my senior year of high school and then I could get out of this elitist hell hole and make my way through college where the actual intellectual learning takes place. I wouldn't have even come here if my grandmother hadn't asked me to- something about a family tradition and since I was the last of the Swan's ...blah, blah, etc. I only need six more classes and I could have easily taken them all online so this is my last favour for her.

This is a fresh start for me though because I don't really know anyone here and while people know **of** **me** here, they don't really know **me**. I almost start fresh this time.

A fresh start.

Right.

People go on and on about fresh starts, like it would be so amazing to just be able to restart your life.

But just because you're starting fresh doesn't mean that you don't remember all the shit that happened before. And it certainly doesn't mean that it didn't happen to you and fuck you up in ways that you would rather forget about.

It doesn't mean that you don't have nightmares and think about horrible fucked up things happening to other people just so that you're not the only one feeling this pain. Just so there's a specific reason to cry this time, even if the reason is only good for a day or two.

Well, there's no use crying over spilled milk, right? What's done is done and can't be undone. But if I was smarter and more determined I think I would spend my time inventing a time machine so that I could go back and try to salvage some of myself, the little broken off pieces of my soul - and maybe a few brain cells.

I choose to come here for my fresh start because ... well, I don't really know. I did promise my grandma and this school in Washington is close enough to Canada that if I really wanted to I could make a run for it.

I probably wouldn't though, it's not like anyone would chase me.

But this is good. I can focus on me and being me. Less classes means more time to focus on not ending up back in rehab or worse ... like Renee.

I put my cigarette out on the underside of my shoe and threw the butt in the trash. No sense in littering like menthol girl. If I ever got as tacky and clichéd as her I would probably off myself.

Well, maybe that's not true. Sometimes I wish I could be satisfied with following the crowd and being a lemming like her. I'm not saying I'm some grand individual or something like that. People who claim to be individual are usually full of shit. I've shopped at the gap, I've danced obnoxiously to Britney Spears, and I've even got a facebook account. I'm just not good at stifling my likes and dislikes to suit the crowd. I wish I was capable of being a mindless Barbie- but I've tried that and it always ends in more meds.

I wish I knew what was going to happen. I wish I could see my future so I could be prepared for it.

But even if I could, I'm sure I'd never be prepared anyway.

That's the way life works. It always comes back to bite you in the ass.


	2. Chapter 2

There are certain actions and parts of my everyday routine which lead me to feel particularly contemplative. It always feels dangerous to spend too much time alone with my thoughts. In fact, that's one of the reasons that I have so much trouble falling asleep at nights, I just can't seem to shut off my brain.

I often wish that I could. It took me a long time to realize that others didn't see the world the way that I did, that they couldn't see things that were going on around them from the same perspective as I could. Of course, they seemed happier than I ever was and so when I was younger I would often wish, ridiculously, that I could have been pretty instead of smart or observant, etc.

I know, I know. Beauty fades and all that shit.

But the pretty girls just seemed to have it all. Now that I'm older and more comfortable with myself I realize how absurd this wish really was, but I still wonder if my life would have been different if I really was too dumb to know all the crazy messed up shit that was going on around me. Of course Renee is one of the beautiful but dumb people and she never seems happy. She's never satisfied with what she has, always wanting more. I don't think there is ever an 'enough' for her.

I learned early on that reading could be an escape for me, taking me away from what was really going on and placing me into another situation where I don't have to be Bella Swan. Part of the reason that I moved to this school was an attempt to connect with myself for the first time in ... well ever. My current therapist, who is far too happy to be considered a part of normal society, says that I have anxiety issues compounded but depression and that I use literature to escape reality instead of dealing with my issues.

I can't believe I paid him $150 an hour to tell me what I already knew.

Of course he did give me some material and asked me to start doing certain things when confronted with a stressful situation. I guess my old trick of digging my fingernails into my palms until they bleed isn't considered healthy in the mental health field. Strange.

But Dr. Happy also wants me to meditate.

I tried to do it in my room this morning to prepare a bit for the first day of class and I felt like a complete idiot, concentrating on my breathing as much as I could, but then continuously snapping out of it when I thought about how much of an imbecile I probably looked like.

Thank goodness I don't have a roommate to look crazy in front of.

Instead of meditating I started to clean my bathroom and listen to the Buddy Holly musical.

It was dangerous to spend too much time with my thoughts.

The trick that I found was to be doing two things at once so that I don't have very much room to deviate from the tasks. My therapist calls that avoidance but I call it necessary. There are only so many panic attacks one person can take in a week. My therapist suggested that I call someone I trust in my life every time I feel the panic building so they could talk to me and try and talk me down. The real problem with that is that I don't really have any people in my life. I basically communicate with my accountant, my business manager, and Dr. Happy.

It's too expensive to call my therapist ever time I feel panicky.

I suppose if I had any inkling to deal with Renee I could make an attempt to determine which state she is currently living in and call her, but then again I would prefer it if she didn't actually know my whereabouts. I like my peace and quiet and I haven't voluntarily talked to her since I was thirteen. I like the scraps of sanity I've been putting together and I don't feel like wasting them on Renee.

Starting at a new school was always an interesting process. If you had social skills and ambitions and a good night sleep it could be fun even. If I was anyone else I may have been excited. This was my last year of school after all and being a senior is supposed to be like some sort of monumental status in the high school hierarchy. I'm sure there were freshmen on the campus already, quaking in their boots while some over grown meat head threatened to freshie them.

I threw myself together quickly, pulling my hair over my left shoulder into a loose ponytail and making sure I had the essentials. Pen, paper, writing notebook, wallet, phone, coffee, cigarettes and I-pod. I would have to buy textbooks later today.

Locking my door with the deadbolt I had installed, I began my trek to the main office, noticing all the while that I was being openly gawked at. The boys looked like they were preparing for attack, while the girls looked like ... they were preparing for attack. My plan to simply blend into the background this year and get by without being tormented was obviously not going to work. I was going to have to talk and socialize with these people.

I could use a smoke.

It appeared that I was the only female on campus who had purchased trousers instead of just the clichéd school girl skirt. Also, while I thought I looked cute with my shirt undone down to the V of my sweater vest and the arms of my shirt rolled up slightly, it appeared that no one but me wore the sweater vest and even fewer people wore the long sleeved shirts. Flat shoes also seemed to be a faux pas, and it appeared that I might be the only one sporting less than a hundred grand in jewels.

I might be exaggerating … but it's still pretty bad. It seemed like I have the words "Freak" tattooed across my forehead. I could also feel the lesbian jokes brewing from the girls just because I chose to wear pants.

It was apparent that I was an outsider, which I could handle, if they would just stop their fucking staring. Most of the boys appeared to have their focus on either my chest or my ass. Well, this was nothing new. I wasn't ugly, but it always amazed me how my appeal would go up at new schools just because I was fresh meat.

When I walked into the front office it became evident that the students were not going to be the only one's openly staring at me.

"Hello, you must be Isabella Swan." The receptionist took a bit too much glee in announcing my name loudly in the crowded office. A few people glanced in my direction while the others just openly stared. I could feel my cheeks beginning to redden under the scrutiny.

"Bella, please." I said, waiting for her to grab my schedule. She obviously already knew who I was so I didn't know why she was spending so much time smiling at me while looking me up and down. What was she waiting for?

"Well, yes Bella, your social worker" she whispered the words as though they were dirty "arranged everything for your classes. If you have any questions please feel free to stop by and ask. There is a map in the back of this package so that you can find the way to all of your classes. Now, because you don't have a guardian, you are allowed to sign for and call in if you are ill or need to leave the school grounds. That being said, we trust that you will not abuse the schools acceptance of this situation."

She whispered the last word again as if I should be ashamed of myself for getting here. As if I had some sort of plan to end up alone in a small town for my senior year of high school at a boarding school where I obviously did not fit in and even more obviously never would.

Last year I probably would have said something to her, probably along the lines of where she could take the map and put it, but I was trying to at least get along in this place and I had a feeling that the sort of language I was trying to prevent from spewing forward would not help me to blend in.

Remember Bella- fresh start.

I wonder if that is even possible for me.

Well, maybe they will at least get used to me.

I pushed my way out of the office and went outside to the benches to sit and have a smoke. I knew that my first class was in the building in front of me so I wasn't too worried about spending time trying to find it or something. And I really need to calm my nerves before I walked into class and at least try and act brave.

I practiced the squared breathing technique to calm myself as I butted out the cigarette and tossed it in the trash. There weren't too many students around and I realized that in my smoking daze I probably missed the bell. I walked a little faster to the class, hoping that they would be lenient on the first day. The last thing I needed was detention to add to new school misery. I never did check out this school's attendance policy…

I walked into the class late. Perfect. All of the other students had their curious gazes focused on me and my hastily thrown on uniform. I felt like the walking dead and my coffee was not helping my frayed nerves, just amping me up a little more. I already disliked math and now I was late.

I should have just stayed in bed.

"Ah, Miss Swan I assume. How nice of you to join us. I trust my class isn't intruding into your schedule?" The professor looked at me with so much arrogance it was comical. I'm sure he meant to be intimidating but it was all I could do to not laugh. That wouldn't have gone well, I'm sure.

"Nope. Sorry I'm late - continue on." I walked to the only open desk on the far side of the room in the front. On the plus side, I didn't have to see any of the students stares as the Prof went over our pre-calculus syllabus, but on the down side, professor Lowen's over excited hand gestures were dangerously close to my head.

I tried not to nod my head as he talked about factorials and imaginary numbers, but mostly I just wrote prose and sipped at my warm caffeine. The girl next to me looked like she was trying to get my attention with her not so covert glances, but I was pointedly ignoring her and writing about the idiocy of the school.

Were these people really the crème de la crème of America? If so I think I prefer the meat and potatoes.

Finally we were dismissed to go to our next class. I had French next and was dreading that almost as much as I had been math. When I got to the door I noticed that the blonde girl who had been trying to get my attention was staring expectantly at me. Her over processed hair and fake nails were seemed to be fairly standard in this school but I noticed this girls hair because it looked like it used to be curly but she had spent a lot of time to make straighten it, but missed wisps of hair around her ears and neck. She probably looked really lovely with her natural curly brow hair.

I gave her a vague, awkward smile and started to walk toward where I assumed corridor E was located. The last thing I needed was to be associated with a plastic girl before I had a chance to meet anyone real. She, however, didn't seem to notice the brush off and began to walk beside me on the way to my French class.

"Hi. You're Isabella Swan. I'm Jessica Stanley of the New York Stanley's – I'm sure you've heard of us. What class do you have next?"

"Umm, French in …"

"Oh, I have French too! This is great. Now I can sit with someone I know in that class." She actually clapped her hands as she said this, her overly long nails clacking together slightly.

"Yeah, um …"

"Did you take French at your last school? Of course you did, this is a senior French class and you can't just get in to it. Unless you've lived in Paris for a while? Oh, have you ever lived in Paris?"

Ah. So this was the rumour floating around here about me. I was shipped off to Paris. Rather boring considering some of the others I've heard. I've never run in the moneyed circles so the rumours now that I'm making this appearance are bound to be colourful.

"No, I've never been to Paris."

"Oh, you simply have to go! The shopping there is divine!" She put her hand on her chest in a dramatic gesture and I wondered if she was really this silly or just playing the part. Either way, she was convincing.

Luckily by this point we had made it to class and taken our seats. I simply smiled at her and made a bit of a show of rifling through my bag to get out my things. I saw the professor at the front of the class eyeing me with a wary look on his face. I wasn't really sure what I had done to make him upset, besides never having been to Paris, but it seemed like I was about to find out.

He walked over to me slowly as Jessica prattled on about shopping in various cities and some celebrity hair stylist who had done her most recent round of highlights.

"Miss Swan?" Jessica quieted and stared between myself and the professor with interest. If I could have remembered his name I would have recited it back to him in the same condescending tone he just used.

"Yes, that's me. Sir?"

"It's Professor McCaffrey and I just wanted to say that I understand you are a new student but you are required to follow the dress code here. Tomorrow I won't be so lenient." I didn't really know what he was talking about since the only thing I could think of was that I had a few extra buttons undone on my shirt, but so did most of the girls in this class.

"I'm sorry sir." I did up the buttons on my blouse and tried not to be too disgusted as he stared a little at my cleavage.

"I'm not talking about your buttons Miss Swan, although they are quite low. You appear to be wearing the men's uniform pieces. I trust you can dress your gender tomorrow." He said and smirked like I was supposed to be embarrassed.

"Excuse me?" I replied with slightly more volume that I expected. Most of the people in the class were now watching out conversation.

"The females of this school wear the short sleeved shirts and the skirts, while the male uniform is what you seem to be wearing."

"I'm sorry, were you confused about my gender? And even if you were I really can't see why that would make any difference to you in how you were going to teach me. I suppose the French pronouns might be a little bit confusing but I'm sure we could get by."

I heard laughter in the class and was sure this was not going to end well for me. But this was the first day and I was doing nothing wrong- well, I was currently lipping off the teacher but no one is perfect. I'm not sure why all the professors I had encountered so far seemed to hate me.

"Please refrain from using that tone with me Miss Swan, and that is not the point. You have to follow the dress code like everyone else in this school. After today I will send you to the principal's office if you persist in blatantly disregarding the rules."

I started to laugh out loud at this. It felt ridiculous. I didn't think twice about why the women in the uniform shop look strangely at me for purchasing pant and skirts. At my last two schools they allowed us to wear either.

"Miss Swan, if you cannot behave in my classroom you need to leave and go to the front office. I will not tolerate this kind of attitude." He huffed at me and crossed his arms as I packed up my stuff and pulled out my phone. I set it up to take a picture and handed it to Jessica who was gapping at me with her mouth open.

"Jessica, would you please take a picture of me with my phone. Make sure you get all of me in the picture." She nodded dumbly and snapped the picture. I looked at it to make sure it was clear and quickly sent a copy to my e-mail just in case I lost my phone.

"Miss Swan, are you done interrupting my class or am I going to have to call someone to come and retrieve you to take you down to the office. I'm sure your social worker would be interested to hear about your poor behaviour on the first day." He smirked as a few of the students gasped at the comment about a social worker. I'm positive this is taboo in these moneyed circles. I did my best not to scream profanity in this man's face so that I could retain a little bit of dignity in my reply.

"No thank you Professor, I'm sure I have all that I need. Thank you for breaching confidentiality though, it will probably help me in my lawsuit. By the way, I am sorry for disrupting your class to take this picture but I figured it was better to have witnesses in the background of the picture so that when this inevitably goes to court they can't say that I somehow cleaned myself up for the photo. I'm sure you'll be hearing from my attorney soon."

I stored my phone back and walked out of the classroom before I could see everyone's reaction to my speech, only hearing light chuckles coming from the back of the room. I had probably made more of a scene than necessary but he just had to bring up the social worker. No doubt the whole school knew by now that I was in rehab last spring and that as part of my conditions of emancipation I was seeing a shrink in Port Angeles once a week. Grand.

Well, hopefully this stunt, while childish, would at least let them know that they couldn't fuck with me that easily.

God. That was nerve wracking. I could feel my hands shaking and there was a layer of sweat coating the back of my neck. But I'm oddly proud that I didn't have a full on panic attack in the face of evil. I stood my ground and made myself known.

Of course now if it was nice tomorrow I would have to wear pants anyway or everyone would think I was pussying out.

Oh well, I guess I really will have to contact my lawyer.

I went out to the benches to have another cigarette. Apparently smoking was tolerated but pants were out of the question at this school. This world is insane.

I typed up a quick e-mail to my attorney and attached the picture to the message explaining my situation. I'm sure he would be contacting the school in the next couple hours which probably means that I would have to have a meeting with some school officials soon. Sigh. I never made things easy on myself did I? But honestly, what is this, the 18th century? No pants? I couldn't keep my big mouth shut about this one.

Students began exit the buildings around me in bigger and bigger hoards so I guessed that it must be time for the next class.

I quickly drank the rest of my cold coffee and hurried to biology, hoping against hope that third time would be a charm and my biology Prof wouldn't hate me on sight.

Students were talking and shooting not so covert glances at me as they walked in their own directions. Some people were chuckling and pointing, and I sincerely hoped that they were laughing at how I tore into professor McAsshat and not **at me**. Although if they were laughing at my expense it wouldn't be too much different from every other school I've attended.

If I was like everyone else my life might be easier.

I entered the biology room and noticed that most of the eyes were in fact, trained on me. I think the majority of the students were assessing my uniform choice but I could feel some of the eyes checking out what was underneath.

Teen boys are such perverts.

I took a seat in the first row again. I didn't have to see any of the stares aimed at me this way, and no one could turn around and try to make awkward conversation about the weather.

Yes, it is rather dreary outside. Yes, I did come from some place sunnier. The end.

I was never that great with generic questioning either. If I really wanted to fit in I should have taken the time to come up with some preapproved, generic answers. Hopefully I'm not that pathetic yet.

The professor for this class was middle aged and slightly thinning on top. He had a mild paunch and a wide crinkly smile. He seemed to be genuinely excited about teaching biology and I sort of envied the way he was eyeing everyone with honest enthusiasm. He still had a look of optimism about him despite what I could guess was years of teaching. You could tell that he was the kind of teacher that tried to inspire his students and make them as passionate about biology as he was.

I was probably not going to become passionate about biology because of him, but he was an interesting character study none the less.

I took out my notebook and started recording a careful character sketch of him. The way his slacks were still carefully creased but the collar of his shirt was unevenly turned. He probably had a wife at home who ironed his clothes for him but he had dressed himself, not too carefully either. He had a wedding band on his left hand and a matching one on the third finger of the right hand.

Maybe he had spent some time in a Muslim country like Indonesia where they wear the band on the right hand because the left hand is for the unclean acts. Is he or his wife a Muslim? How strict would they be about their faith? Probably not very strict in an environment like this.

The walls of the classroom were lined with various cartoons many of them focused on biology and other sciences with a few political ones thrown in there. He was rather liberal judging from the tone of the political cartoons, and he also had a bit of a fascination with dinosaurs. He most likely believed in evolution then.

I continued on my character sketch for a while as Professor Banner handed out our syllabus and talked briefly about what we were going to be doing in his class. I didn't really pay close attention to what he was saying but I did detect a faint southern twang in his speech. He had probably left the south when he was young then.

"Isabella Swan?"

"Yes?" I perked up as my name was called. Most of the class was looking at me and the mild chatter that had filled the room for the last few minutes seemed to increase as I spoke. I hoped that this man wasn't going to hate me as well; I was beginning to like him.

"Please take a seat in the back center table. Your partner for the year will be Edward Masen."

I smiled as much as I could and gathered my belongings to head to the back of the class. Some of the girls were huffing as I moved to the back and no one seemed to want to make eye contact with me, although they seemed to be content with staring at me. Nice.

I settled into the back row and began to write in my notebook again, commenting on how Professor Banner wore rubber grippers over his dress shoes even in the classroom. One of my few memories of my grandfather is that he always wore the rubber bottoms outside, even though they made his expensive shoes look ridiculous. I laughed out loud as I thought of the way that he would often lose one or the other and end up with two for the same shoe.

"Care to share with the rest of class?" A velvet voice came from beside me. I hadn't looked up yet to see my partner but when I looked at his face I almost laughed at my silliness.

The boy, well he was almost a man, beside me was beautiful. Not in your typical tan, muscled man way. He was lean and obviously tall. He had bronzed color ginger hair and a crooked smile that suited him perfectly. He was a great cross between boyish charm and masculine features.

He was perfect.

"Um, sorry, I just … the rubbers Banner is wearing …" I pointed lamely to his feet as professor Banner continued to assign students to other seats in the classroom.

"Ah, yes, the old man foot wear. I fully expect that he smokes a pipe at home and calls his friends 'ole chap' when he addresses them." He smiled wider and his green eyes held mine strong. I could tell already that he was a confident person, assured in himself and his social interactions. I laughed at his statement, glad he didn't think I was insane.

"My grandfather wore them as well. I never understood them really because he would always just get mud on the tops of his shoes and the sides would be clean. They aren't the most functional things ever." I didn't break the eye contact as I talked to him and was glad that the class seemed to be too busy talking around us to hear my idiotic rambling to the beautiful man next to me.

"Banner is an interesting man. I find the best people out there do odd things like wear rubber soles so I think we can forgive him on this count."

"I agree." I said, smiling because he didn't seem to think that I was totally mental. Even if I was.

I managed to pry my eyes away from his before I became too engrossed in our staring contest and I noticed that a few girls were snickering at me quite openly throughout the classroom. I probably looked a little mentally incompetent now.

I reopened my notebook and tried to write again but everything that came out of it was complete garbage. My mind was still trapped thinking about various scenarios when the beautiful boy next to me sweeps me out of this hellish school and we run away to some tropical island. In this fantasy he get really tan and it makes all the cute freckles on his nose all the more prominent and I actually look cute in a bikini and we take long walks in the afternoon and dance to bad island music at night.

I hope in this moment that no one can hear my thoughts and see what I am thinking because I am not the type of person to have these sorts of day dreams. I am the type of person who openly laughs at the people who daydream about this and talk about how shallow and soulless they are. I realize in this moment that I am my mother. It was probably only 3 minutes worth of Renee-ness but it chills me to the bone to think that my though patterns could begin mimicking hers.

I can feel my breathing picking up and I start to feel the familiar panic in my chest and I know my face is getting sweaty and flush while I try to correct my vision so that I am no longer seeing double. Thankfully most of the people who were staring at me seem to be pretending to listen to the professor go over the syllabus so when I put my head down on the table and try to remember how to breathe no one takes any notice of me. Even the beautiful boy next to me seems to be paying attention to his I-pod and not to my mild meltdown.

This makes me feel a little bit better. Maybe I can get through this after all. I am not Renee. I am not her and I will never be her. I am Bella Swan and I am my own person. I don't need to be rescued because I can rescue myself.

I finally calm myself down as the professor end his talk about the course work. Glancing over at the bronze haired boy I notice that he is still in his own world, as if he's sitting in a peaceful meadow and not in the back of a stuffy biology laboratory. It makes me smile a little to this of where he's imagining he is.

This is when his eyes catch mine and seeing my smile he smiles back at me. I respond, of course, by grinning wider, because his smile is so beautiful and infectious that I feel like I am there with him, in the meadow, and the two of us are not trapped in this stuffy classroom with people judging my masculine outfit and wondering how much I am really worth. I'm just Bella in that meadow.

"Okay, so we have about 10 minutes left in class so why doesn't everyone talk quietly and try to get to know your lab partners a little better." Professor Banner concludes his spiel and I am almost giddy with relief. I can go and sulk in my room for the rest of the night if I want to and not be starred at.

And I can have a smoke.

I can see the beautiful boy next to me finally take out his earphones and put his iPod back into his bag. I take this opportunity to ogle his back a little because I can faintly see the outline of his should and back muscles as he turns his torso away from me.

I don't remember the last time I ogled someone.

"So, what's up?" He turns and asks me. I try to have some composure, I really do, but all I can think to say is,

"Nothing."

He smiles a little and I feel thankful that I didn't say something even more idiotic.

"Yeah, well, this class should be okay I guess. How are you with biology?"

"I'm alright." I say, because I can't say that this class will be a breeze because I've already covered most of the material at my last school. I don't want to sound like a snob, especially since I don't know how distracted I'll be by my new lab partner. I hope I can get it together.

"Me too. Banner is pretty nice, a little enthusiastic, but pretty nice, so it shouldn't be too bad."

"He seems great."

"Yeah. So, you're new, right? Where did you move from?" I can tell that the first question is rhetorical but I can't tell if the second question isn't just being polite since I feel like most of the school already knows my entire life story -well, the public version anyway.

"Arizona. But my last school was in Tallahassee."

"Ah, warmth to this. Must suck."

"Yeah, well, it could be worse."

"I suppose. We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Edward Masen." He holds out his hand for me to shake and I admire his long fingers. Definitely a musician. I've always had a thing for hands.

"Isabella Swan. But just call me Bella, please." I shake his hand and it feels soft and warm, not sweaty like mine. I hope he doesn't notice. I'm searching his face for some flicker to tell me that he thinks I'm a gross sweat monster or something of the like when I see his eyes darken and his face harden into a scowl.

I know I may not be making the best impressions today but his change alarms me and I feel extremely rejected when he yanks his hand back from mine and continues to scowl.

"Oh." he says quietly, his lips smacking hard back into a grimace.

I watch him for a minute more, me with confusion as he searches my face for something, not looking away but with neither of us inclined to say more. I wonder if it's splotchy still from my minor panic attack?

Suddenly he grabs his bag and walks briskly out the door, leaving me to sit alone. I can't tell what I did to make him hate me so quickly but I'm sure that it's a sentiment that will soon be shared by all his other, most likely beautiful, friends. My daydreams disappeared with him, lost in their transition to reality.

I watch as the other students slowly file out into the hallway until I'm the last person sitting alone in the classroom, trying not to cry.

A first day.

A fresh start.

Another disaster.


End file.
